Your eyes like pools of the clearest water beckon me,
beg me to drink from them.
With each blink,
their color grows warmer,
smoother, more welcoming.
I move closer, toeing the edge of your abyss,
heeding no warnings of eternal falling with the miss of a step.
The swirls of blue mirror the sky
on the most beautiful day,
mesmerizing me, hypnotizing me,
easily fooling me into stepping in
without testing the depth of your water.
My blind faith does not lead me to drown.
Instead,
your waters surround me,
wrapping me in warmth and keeping me afloat.
Each blink is a wave rocking me steady,
rhythmically, peacefully,
matching my own heartbeat,
repeating, promising an ever-continuing symphony,
a lullaby
that claims an end to my nightmares.

He was a brain and he was not insane.

Nor did he like to complain.

On and off, of a stage his talents are great and fame.

So let's go get ticket's to see his way.

Many came he was shy with pink sides and gray.

No reason, to be that just show us what's under that hat!

He took of his hat, and just like that there eyes feels with grain.

Oh dear, what's that of this stage.

He is a brain, how can he be here.

No body, no soul, no solidness to take hold.

Phase 1.
He will be missed.

that's what they'll write on your Facebook
tombstone,
after they'll scatter your ashes
all over the big blue virtual ocean.

small pieces of your memory
will end up on people's profile pictures
(the full black ones
are small parts of your
Nick Cave t-shirt).

they'll suddenly remember
that you once existed and
that they had the honor
of not picking up YOUR phone calls.
they'll share all your favorite songs
on their side of the wall,
saying this and that
and how you inspired them
through your nonsense.
they'll hashtag your big fat ***
with that special #RIP *******,
knowing that you haven't
slept well in a while.


Phase 2.
Something's missing.

that's what they'll say
after a couple of months,
when they'll look at the empty places
in their bookcases
and realize that,
indeed,
it wasn't a good idea to lend their books
to a depressed as **** *******.

they'll go online
and order new books
and try to forget your absence;
your song will be played again.
you'll be an echo one more time,
water under their bridge,
a white paint mark that they leave behind on the road,
on their way to the seaside,
a decent line
in a Romanian new wave movie
that makes them smile for a second
and then, after the screening's over, try to remember..

you had the choice of carving smiles into stone or
that of throwing stones into smiles.
what do you think people saw?

Phase 0.**

you don't have to live a great life.
you just have to die a simple death.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBlNUkEVA4A]

Like the spectral sensation
                                of invisible waves
                                        swelling against the body in bed--

                                                          ­       so do your lips
                                                 still wash over mine.

You're listening to random radio stations,
on your way home,
Thinking this could be
the soundtrack of your day to day life..

A little bit of Cohen
and
some Cigarettes after ***
would easily do the trick.

You're just another unknown genius,
waiting to be discovered - an original copy of the "real deal".

Your parents must be very proud!
You have that look.. you know what I mean?
THAT look.

The ones surrounding you are nothing more than
Extras in your daily 7 o'clock show,
filmed in front of a live audience.

Your big break is just around the corner,
hiding in some bushes
and you must really feel smart right now,
with your old and wise attitude,
thinking 'bout the planet and
all that ****,
having the impression that you changed
something in this world,
on your way back from work..
something else than this rusty game
of useless words,
that the rest of your family doesn't really care about.
Your one man show is about to be moved in the better slot
and you'll finally get to stick your face on a Snickers' bar campaign.

"You're not you when you're happy!"

You'll get off soon.
Remember to smile and wave.
Remember to forget.

I just have this wave washed over me and it isn't drying away.

Ultimately, language will be replaced by subtleties.
The amplified magnitude of your true essence commingling amidst another's - unbounded and effortless.
Parallel perspectives - instinctive and raw
Each quark and quirk facing the void
Evoking recognition of confidence wrought amidst the entwined advent of your ability to manifest emergent and fresh.
Hewn vibrationally in the full spectrum of presence,  we lightly upon wave form.

In the deep ocean you hide,
But baby I refuse to love in shallow waters.
So I'll step into the tide,
Where shore meets the break.
And I'll dive deeper, deeper for you,
For I do not fear your currents.
Even a tidal wave could never pull me away.

-Rebecca Cerrone